


Ritüel

by Vitriolic



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Age Difference, Agoraphobia, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Drugs, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Levi/Eren Yeager-centric, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitriolic/pseuds/Vitriolic
Summary: Levi is an agoraphobic widow on the verge of another nervous breakdown. Eren is a college drop-out with no future.OrLevi needs a live-in housekeeper when his agoraphobia leaves him unable to function on his own, and Eren doesn't have enough room to be picky about the jobs he applies for.
Relationships: Levi/Eren Yeager, Levi/Erwin Smith
Comments: 29
Kudos: 63





	1. Gnawing Insects

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ♡ This is going to be a long, slow, devastatingly miserable ride. Enjoy~!

ag·o·ra·pho·bi·a

_noun_

extreme or irrational fear of entering open or crowded places, of leaving one's own home, or of being in places from which escape is difficult.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The psychologists office was drab and dimly lit. It could be argued that the low lighting was meant to emulate a calm, non-invasive atmosphere to make clients feel more comfortable, but Levi suspected that the less than adequate lighting was the result of the landlord cutting corners and pinching pennies to fatten up their wallet. Selfish, although admittedly economically viable. It gave Levi a migraine. Not as much of a migraine as the grating and somewhat condescending tranquil music that played on repeat in the waiting room — now _that_ was downright torture.

At reception sat a grotesquely disinterested young woman sporting an impressive resting bitch face. She had little white earbuds crammed deep onto her ears, presumably to drown out the nauseating sound of artificial waterfalls and an undeniably outdated synthesizer. Dark, sticky mascara clung to her lashes in large clumps, and the shade of foundation that she wore was visibly darker than the exposed skin on her neck. Her lips were thin and chapped, though the subtle sheen of cheap drugstore chapstick shone prominently against the rosy flesh below.

Levi licked his lips, noticing that they were dry and beginning to crack as well. 

_Wintertime. Figures._

He scoffed softly to himself and wondered how long he’d been waiting patiently for his name to be called, the pit in his stomach growing heavier and more angry with each passing second. He loathed therapy. It made him feel broken and like he needed to be fixed somehow. _Normal_ people didn’t need to see shrinks.

Planning the twenty minute commute to the plain office building for his appointments each week was something Levi didn’t relish doing — it sent him into a deep state of panic, his every instinct screaming at him just to stay home because it was easier. Safer. Comfortable. The public transportation system was filthy and crowded and Levi often got the distinct sensation of getting buried alive whenever he boarded the city bus. He felt like everyone was constantly _staring_ at him, burning holes through his clothes and — _christ_ — he felt so fucking vulnrable and exposed and he wanted to crawl out of his skin and retreat as quickly as possible. He didn’t _want_ to leave his home, but his more rational mind told him that it was necessary.

Erwin more than likely would have said the same. He’d been the voice of reason throughout their ten years of marriage, often tethering Levi back to reality.

Levi cringed and balled his hands into fists, knuckles going white and nails digging tiny little crescent shapes into his palms. He took a deep breath. Swallowed. His mouth was parched and his tongue felt rough, much like the scaly flesh of some sort of reptile. He was dehydrated - he knew that, but he didn’t ever drink water before leaving home. It was too risky. The last thing he needed was to be trapped on the city bus with a full bladder while fighting off seemingly inevitable panic attacks that always came in relentless waves. And he didn’t even want to humor the idea that he’d have to rush, embarrassingly, to a public restroom. That would be the worst case scenario and he’d more than likely wet himself before allowing such a thing to happen.

There was a modest little water cooler on the far side of the waiting room, but Levi didn’t dare venture out of the small patch of territory that he’d claimed for himself. He’d managed to snag a seat directly by the exit, which was a rare, however very much welcome victory. He offered an uninviting grimace towards anyone that dared sit in the seat beside him, and this resulted in a variety of offended grunts and snide remarks from a handful of patients, but he felt no remorse. Levi valued his personal space greatly and would likely stand up and walk straight out of the office if it meant he could avoid sitting next to a stranger until his name got called.

He hadn’t always been this way. Of course he’d always been antisocial, introverted, and ridiculously unpleasant, but his genuine fear of the world around him was a somewhat recent development. That is, of course, if two years ago could be considered recent, as that’s when his initial nervous breakdown had occurred.

 _What a fucking embarrassment._ He shuddered.

“Mr. Smith,” Levi’s ears perked up when he heard the shrill call from the woman at reception and he was pulled abruptly from the comforting abyss of thoughts rattling around in his skull. She’d removed her earbuds and was staring vacantly out into the waiting room, almost as if she hoped to find _Mr. Smith_ residing where the walls and ceiling met. He stood up slowly, his heart racing rapidly in his chest despite the fact that he’d been here hundreds of times before. It was silly of him to feel so anxious, Levi _knew_ this, and he wished he could reason with himself. 

Erwin would have known what to say to calm him down. He was always so reassuring, no matter how childish or irrational Levi was behaving. It was a frequent annoyance, because sometimes Levi just wanted to be scolded, to have his husband _put him in his fucking place_ , but he never did. He was kind. Patient. Gentle. 

_Perfect._

Levi felt his jaw clench, teeth creaking and threatening to crumble under the sudden pressure. He breathed in through his nose and felt his chest stutter, the sharp, nervous sensation in his core ceasing its assault on his senses until he finally exhaled through his mouth. What calmed him was the all too familiar sight of Dr. Zoë beaming at him excitedly from the doorway to their office. Their smile was friendly and void of judgment. It made him feel safe. He trusted them. 

“Levi! C'mon in!” They gestured for him to approach, their arms flailing about animatedly, much like a baby bird attempting to make flight. This caused Levi to produce a soft, breathy chuckle as he joined them in the safe confines of their workspace.

Dr. Zoë had a nice office. It wasn’t immaculate by any means, but it was clean enough for Levi's tastes and that in and of itself spoke volumes. There were two chairs — one was large and adorned with a striking leather cover; this chair belonged exclusively to Dr. Zoë. The other chair was much less impressive, as it was significantly smaller, covered in a tasteless navy blue fabric that scratched against flesh, and it had a single, worn out cushion that looked to be held on by literal threads. Against the back wall, however, was an inviting brown couch. This was the seat Levi preferred, and Dr. Zoë would take time to delicately sanitize the faux leather each week directly before Levi's appointment. This gesture made him feel embarrassed at first, but he grew to appreciate it, as it meant he would get more out of his hour chats with Dr. Zoë rather than spending the first ten to fifteen minutes of their time together meticulously scrubbing down the worn piece of furniture.

Levi sat down on the far right of the couch and rested his elbow comfortably on the armrest. He let his messenger bag fall into the seat beside him, but still kept it close. The closeness of the familiar object subconsciously comforted him. Pale, lanky fingers nervously ran along the shabby, black strap — Levi enjoyed the feeling of the fabric against his skin. It was rough and kept him strangely grounded in the moment.

Dr. Zoë lowered themself into the large swivel chair and got situated by grabbing a pen and notepad, soon thereafter lowering their glasses to perch on the bridge of their slightly crooked nose. Again, they smiled, and the tiniest hint of crows feet appeared at the edges of their eyes.

“Levi,” the brunette began, leaning back into their chair and meeting his gaze. “How’re you doin' today? How’s Farlan? Isabel?”

Levi smiled, though it was faint and hardly visible to the naked eye. The thought of his two finches singing away merrily in their aviary back at his apartment brought him a sense of security. They were a new addition to his life. An impulse buy, if anything, but they gave him something to take care of.

He cleared his throat.

“Um,” his voice cracked. It was hoarse and irritated, and his tongue had long since cemented itself to the roof of his mouth. Dr. Zoë only smiled wider and rushed clumsily to their feet, making their way over to the water cooler back in the waiting room. Levi stared at the framed paintings and certificates on the walls. They never changed, but he could always get lost in the monotonous motel art and convoluted documents with proudly displayed golden seals below seas of text. He couldn’t quite make out the words on said documents, as he wasn’t the strongest reader and his eyesight was growing blurry and weak with age. He was 34, after all. Erwin would have been approaching his late 40’s if he was still around.

Levi imagined his late husband sporting a handsome head of salt and pepper locks. The corners of his mouth turned upward into a bittersweet smile.

The door creaked open and Dr. Zoë was with him once again, only this time they held two paper water cups in their hands. They were cone shaped and entirely inconvenient, as they couldn’t be placed anywhere and they created an obscene amount of waste, but Levi wouldn’t complain. He accepted the cup, waited a moment, and took a sip. The water tasted of the wax sealant that was used inside of the cup to prevent leakage. Not pleasant by any means, but it served its purpose and successfully quenched his thirst. 

Dr. Zoë cleared their throat, a wide, toothy smile stretching itself from one ear to the other. They always seemed _too_ enthusiastic to listen — their interest in Levi's life was so fucking _genuine_ and he often found it to be unnerving. He couldn't complain, though. They were one of the few shrinks that accepted his insurance and he'd grown fond of them over the expanse of his treatment. 

_Treatment._

God, Levi hated that word. It made him feel like he was sick, or like something was wrong with him. Admittedly, he wasn't exactly a functioning member of society at the moment, but he wasn't fucking _crazy._ He was fully aware that his behavior was nonsensical and occasionally on the more extreme side. He was an eccentric man, plain and simple. 

"You feeling alright today, Levi?" He hadn't even noticed that he'd been zoning out until Dr. Zoë spoke, and he flushed at the realization and blinked a couple of times, bringing himself back into present. 

"Drained from the ride," Levi began, his eyes shooting downward to stare into the nearly empty cup of water in his hands. "Bus was packed. Had to stand the entire time."

Silence. The aggressive scratch of pen on paper filled the void. 

"Any panic attacks today?"

"No."

Dr. Zoë beamed and jotted down some more notes, muttering nonsense under their breath as their pen danced across the off-white paper. Levi never knew what they wrote, but sometimes he caught glimpses of their messy, disorganized handwriting. The letters were all different sizes and they seemed determined to avoid writing in straight lines. It was infuriating and the action made his palms sweat. Sometimes he wondered if they did these things just to test him.

Levi licked his teeth, his tongue gliding across both smooth and chipped teeth, feeling out the array of textures. His mouth tasted like the remnants of spearmint gum and the subtle, festering growth of bacteria. The thought of plaque growing heavy and infiltrating every crack and crevice of his mouth made him feel queasy. He imagined his teeth rotting, crumbling, and falling out one by one and turning to ash.

_I really should start carrying a toothbrush with me when I go out._

"How would you rate your anxiety on a scale of one to ten right now?" _Christ._ Zoned out again. 

"Seven." He always said seven. Dr. Zoë looked displeased with his answer. He hadn't made any progress in a while. He was stuck. Stagnate. Consistently failing to move forward. Trapped. A prisoner in his own mind. 

"Have you been taking your medication?"

"No." Levi didn't like the medication. It made him feel foggy and unlike himself. Though he supposed the _point_ of the medication was to make him feel unlike himself, it didn't make him feel any more enthusiastic about ingesting them. _Crazy_ people took pills. 

"Levi, you have to work _with_ me to see results. There's only so much I can do if you won't meet me halfway." Dr. Zoë had good intentions. They seemed sincere in their desire to help. He felt like an ice cold bucket of pure guilt had been poured over him and he ground his teeth against each other while he paused to think.

"I'll take them when I get home." The answer seemed to satisfy them temporarily. More notes were taken. He tossed his paper cup into the garbage can that resided directly adjacent to the couch and his lips turned upward slightly, pleased with his aim. Dr. Zoë placed their notepad in their lap and leaned back into the chair. Levi took the temporary moment of silence to observe. 

Dr. Zoë was cute — not Levi's type by _any_ stretch of the imagination, but they had a unique, androgynous charm to them that he admired greatly. They were taller than Levi, which wasn't surprising as he wasn't exactly vertically gifted, yet their posture was atrocious and definitely knocked an inch or two off. Their hair was warm and brown, but tangled and thrown up into a messy, miserable excuse for a ponytail. This was the only hairstyle that Levi had ever seen them wear, but he had to admit that it suited them, much like their chunky rectangular glasses that would be considered _blasphemous_ had they been on anyone else's face. 

"Now that the boring stuff is out of the way, let's talk about your week." It was a prompt that Levi often struggled with. There wasn't much to discuss, as the man rarely left his house and subjected himself to a mundane, ritualistic lifestyle that rarely changed. The introduction of his new pet birds had been a shock not only to Dr. Zoë, but to himself as well. He had an undeniable impulsive streak when he was much younger, but it would occasionally make a reappearance in his life from time to time. 

"Isabel got out of the aviary when I went to change their water dish. Dumbass took a shit on my counter," Levi rolled his eyes and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "I bet she did it on purpose."

He didn't really think this, but the statement made him chuckle. Dr. Zoë laughed — perhaps a little _too_ hard.

Levi continued, "and then my housekeeper quit on Tuesday. Said something about a hostile work environment _._ " _Bitch_ . He rolled his eyes. She’d been a God awful staffer and acted as if she was physically incapable of holding a broom and would complain whenever Levi requested that she run errands for him. He was honestly _glad_ that she quit, although it would be a bit of a headache to put out an ad for a new housekeeper before he ran out of groceries and subsequently starved to death. She was lucky that he decided not to send a lengthy complaint to the agency that he’d hired her from for causing him such an inconvenience. 

"You need to learn to play nice," Dr. Zoë said while shaking their head, a wide grin still plastered to their freckled face. Levi wondered if their cheeks ever got tired from smiling so damn much. "People _want_ to be your friend, Levi. They _want_ to get to know you." 

Levi doubted this greatly and had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He vaguely remembered Dr. Zoë scolding him some time ago after he revealed the fact that he made a woman on the city bus cry during his commute to the office building.

 _"You called her_ **_what_ ** ?! _" Dr. Zoë's eyes were wide, bulging and almost threatening to pop out of their skull and shatter the lenses of their overly large glasses._

 _"A mouthbreather. It was the truth. She didn't_ **_need_ ** _to breathe down my neck like that for the entire trip. Her oral hygiene was fucking deplorable."_

_"Levi, if you don't have something nice to say then you shouldn't say it at all."_

Levi wore insults and a quick wit like armor. They protected him, _shielded_ him from the cruel world around him. Dr. Zoë called it a coping mechanism. Erwin called it a bad attitude.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The two spoke for the remainder of their hour session about nothing of substance or particular importance. His attention was lingering on a small patch of fungi that was nestled comfortably in the corner of the room when the alarm on Dr. Zoë’s phone, alerting them that their time was up, startled him out of his apparent vegatative state. Levi met their gaze. They were wearing an exaggerated pout, as if to illustrate their dismay with how dull the session had been, but they said nothing. They often had appointments such as this one, in which Levi isn’t entirely _there_ and the conversations turned to one-sided interviews that elicit monotonous, empty responses. Even on the best of days, Levi wasn’t exactly the best with words and getting him to open up was a chore to say the very least. He'd always been aloof and unreasonably cold towards others, but he had little reason to shake the habit. 

"Welp," Dr. Zoë explained, popping their lips as they extenuated the 'p' sound. "Looks like our times up."

"Fantastic." Levi drawled in return, feeling indifferent. He didn't enjoy subjecting himself to therapy, but he enjoyed the bus ride home even less. It was one of the more stressful tasks that were required of him to qualify as a functional member of society, but he frequently considered abandoning public transportation and traveling by foot instead despite the unpredictability of the weather.

They both got up from their seats. Levi grabbed his tattered messenger bag and hung it across his body, clutching to the strap with one hand and reaching to shove the other one into the safety of his coat pocket. Dr. Zoë opened the door for him, stepping outside of their office to escort him to reception. This was their routine and Levi found solace in ritual.

He scheduled his next appointment with the moody bitch at reception and kept his goodbyes brief with his shrink, rendering himself a passenger in his own head as his body moved on autopilot. Levi just wanted to go home, and formalities did nothing but delay his ability to do so. Coming across as rude was the least of his concerns.

"See you next week, Mr. Smith." Levi grunted in response at the receptionist and spun around on his heel, moving nimbly towards the exit. He stepped out into the long, narrow hall and felt his throat tighten — he _hated_ hallways such as this one. Brushing shoulders with people walking in the opposite direction as himself was inevitable, lest he flattened himself against the wall and made a fool of himself instead. Neither of these options were ideal, so he settled on power walking to the elevator before anyone else entered the hallway. 

Whoever owned the building showed little pride in their property. The wallpaper was chipping away and stained in some areas, its true color unidentifiable amidst the filth it was coated in. Even more repulsive was the putrid green carpeting, which Levi actively chose to ignore as to spare himself the nausea. He could hardly stomach the idea of touching the elevator buttons as it was. 

_Speak of the fucker._

There he stood, face to face with a pair of scuffed up metal doors. Metal doors that, in Levi's opinion, only served to taunt him. Elevators fucking terrified Levi — not only would they confine Levi in a tight space with no easy escape, but he would often be stuck riding alongside strangers until they reached the ground floor, and Levi couldn't stand it when they tried to make conversation with him. The thought of forced small-talk while crammed inside a metal death chamber made his stomach do flips. His throat felt tight, almost as if he was being strangled from the inside out, and his heart started to race. 

He inhaled...

Exhaled...

… And then turned on the balls of his feet and walked straight towards the fire exit. He'd take the stairs instead. 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Levi hadn't realized how warm the office building had been until he finally stepped outside, the harsh and frigid winds knocking the air out of his lungs and sending him stumbling backwards. His hands moved on their own, reflexively gripping onto the strap of his messenger bag, bony knuckles going completely white. He watched as the warm moisture of his breath condensed and turned to a transparent, misty cloud when it hit the freezing air around him. He licked his lips despite knowing that doing so would only cause them to crack more, and he could have sworn that he could _feel_ them turning blue.

If he didn't start moving quickly he'd end up missing the bus, and that just wasn't an option. Levi spent hours the night before planning the commute, hunched over on his desk meticulously scanning over the bus route and times on the computer. He needed to show up to the bus stop at least 10 minutes before it was scheduled to arrive — it gave him time to take a few deep breaths and collect himself before boarding. Getting on the bus was the hardest part, so he needed a moment to brace himself mentally or possibly face an embarrassing meltdown.

Luckily for Levi, the bus stop was only a couple blocks away and the chances of him running behind schedule were slim to none. So, without wasting any more time, Levi started walking. He cursed under his breath when he realized that he'd have to walk against the wind. It was so _cold_ and the breeze felt like pinpricks on his nose and cheeks, but he maintained his stoic expression despite his discomfort and kept his eyes glued to the sidewalk beneath him. Eye contact made him incredibly uncomfortable - it often resulted in people trying to _talk_ to him, and that wasn’t something he was willing to risk. Tunnel vision was his safety blanket, keeping him in his own little bubble and completely disconnected from the world around him, safe from anything that might make him panic. 

The walk went by quickly, as he’d done it hundreds of times before. He knew every crack and crevice in the pavement, every bump and dip and inconsistency in its structure. He knew this sidewalk like the back of his hand and as pathetic as it sounds, this reality brought him a lot of comfort. Repetition, routine, habit - whatever it was, Levi _needed_ it in order to stay afloat, and he knew that without it he wouldn’t be able to function at all. 

He felt a sharp pang of sudden anxiety as he spotted the bus stop. There wasn’t anyone else waiting, which was good, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom. 

_It’s just a bus, Levi. Pull yourself together._

It was silly, and he knew that. This self-awareness only worked to further his frustrations, because it made him feel completely out of control of his own thoughts and feelings. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to catch his breath and calm down before the bus arrived. The air was cold and it burned his nostrils, but the sensation grounded him. His fingers continued to play with the fabric on the strap of his bag somewhat mindlessly as he waited.

A loud hissing noise startled him out of his moment of meditation, followed by the deep thrumming of a large engine. The bus finally arrived at the stop, though Levi had to admit that he thought he had significantly more time to relax. He fumbled around clumsily to gather his bus pass from the front pocket of his bag, clinging to it with shaky hands as he walked up the steps to his own personal Hell. The bus driver that worked this route never changed, but Levi didn’t care to learn his name. He was average height and slightly overweight, the hair on the back of his head thinning noticeably, and Levi wondered why he didn’t just shave it all off. 

The driver greeted Levi with a brief nod and a friendly smile. Levi only returned the nod and flashed his bus pass quickly before moving to find a seat near one of the two exits. He was relieved to find that there was a free seat directly behind the driver. Levi moved with urgency, although he knew the driver would wait for him to get settled before their departure. Reaching into his bag, Levi searched for his travel pack of sanitary wipes so he could wipe the seat down. The plastic crinkled under his touch and he knew he’d found them, so he pulled the package out and retrieved a couple of the wipes. He scrubbed down the seat, making sure that he didn’t miss any surface area before sitting down and tossing the contaminated wipes into the small trash can that was bolted down to the floor beside the driver's seat. He grabbed his hand sanitizer from the front pocket of his bag, the same pocket that he kept his bus pass in, and proceeded to clean his hands thoroughly.

The doors hissed shut and the bus started to move. Levi huffed out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and finally allowed himself to relax. He peered out of the window, though the view wasn’t exactly anything special and his vision was distorted by various scuffs and scrapes in the glass. It was gray outside, dark clouds looming ominously above, waiting for the right moment to shed their tears and start anew. It would probably be very sunny out the next day, not that it really mattered to someone that rarely left the house. He just hoped the rain would wait to fall until after he was safe and secure in his apartment. Levi hated getting rained on. 

Gigantic concrete buildings grew scarce as they exited the main part of the city, and they were soon replaced by rows upon rows of naked, spidery trees. Their branches bent and contorted into such strange shapes and positions, and Levi found himself captivated by them. Levi felt that their complexity was hidden behind a heavy mask of leaves for most of the year, but wintertime allowed him a glimpse into the beauty beneath. He smiled softly, imagining what it might be like to be a tree, and how many stories they might have if they could speak. They didn’t need to worry, or stress, or fear. Trees just had to exist, and Levi envied them for it. 

Older buildings, made of red brick and held together by thick mortar, came into view and Levi knew that his stop was approaching. His late husband was a moderately wealthy man, and the two of them spent the vast majority of their marriage living in an upscale gated community. Their home had been a large one, hidden at the end of an endless gravel driveway. It was suited for a big family, which Erwin and Levi wanted desperately at one point in time. Levi couldn’t bear to live there anymore after Erwin passed, and he sold it almost immediately after the funeral. Although he’d been entitled to not only the estate, but the entirety of Erwin’s wealth following his death, Levi instead chose to find himself a modest apartment in the city.

The bus came to a halt, and Levi knew it was his stop. He gathered his things and got to his feet, eager to be safe in his home and even more eager to take a much needed shower. It was probably just a figment of his imagination, but Levi was sure that he could _feel_ the sweat and grime of the day crawling and wriggling around on his flesh beneath his clothing, and it made him slightly nauseous. Removing his skin obviously wasn’t an option, so a shower would have to do.

He was quick to make sure that he had all of his belongings on his person before exiting the bus, offering the driver a nod and an inaudible ‘ _thank you’_ before descending the stairs. Once again the cold air assaulted him, provoking a violent shiver that caused him to reflexively cross his arms over his chest to preserve the little body heat he had. This specific bus stop was a godsend, as it was directly adjacent to his apartment building. Levi trudged over to the crosswalk and hit the button with his elbow. A few moments passed before the light changed to show the image of a walking man. He looked both ways, and looked both ways again before crossing the street, thankful that the day was finally coming to and end. 

His apartment building wasn’t anything special - it was a modest five stories high and made of red brick, much like all of the other buildings in the area. There were three stairs leading up to the main entrance with metal rails on either side, though Levi wouldn’t dream of touching them. Instead, he uncrossed his arms and walked up them slowly, careful not to slip, before pushing through the main door. There were two doors, but the hinges on the door on the right were broken, rendering it useless. The security guard on duty was asleep at his desk, dirty boots propped up and his hands holding each other tightly above his belly. Levi rolled his eyes and walked past the guard, making his way towards the stairs. The apartment building had an elevator of course, but Levi wouldn't use it even if he wasn’t terrified of them - he was positive the contraption hadn’t been serviced in over a decade, as it shrieked and groaned loudly every time someone was stupid enough to step inside. 

Levi lived on the fifth floor, though he wished he could have snagged an apartment closer to the ground. His mind played horrific scenes of the building catching on fire and becoming stranded at the top with no chance of escape. It wasn’t an entirely irrational fear, but he knew better than to humor it for long. Making up catastrophic scenarios for himself did nothing but make his fears even worse, so he chose to keep his mind empty as he walked up the stairs. The fire exit was always cold and the air was musty, probably a result of a long ignored mold problem. He’d hold his breath, but he wasn’t sure if he could hold it that long and it was better to not risk passing out and falling down an endless spiral of concrete steps. Lactic acid built up in his legs, and by the time he reached the fifth floor he could feel his thighs burning and the muscles spasming. He was somewhat out of breath, which Erwin probably would have teased him for - the two of them were always in great shape, but Levi had long since given up on the concept of taking care of himself or his body. There wasn’t any point in it anymore. 

There were eight apartments on each floor, however only six of which were occupied on Levi’s level. Levi lived in the third apartment to the left, sandwiched between an elderly woman with an obsession with cats and a pair of obnoxious college roommates that insisted on throwing parties every other weekend. He retrieved his key from the pocket of his coat and shoved it into the keyhole, jiggling the handle as he did so until it finally twisted open. The handle was finicky and one of his primary annoyances with his living situation, but he didn’t care enough to venture out to purchase a new one to install himself. He pushed the door open and cringed as the hinges whined and creaked before stepping inside and letting it fall shut with a _click._

Levi pressed his back against the floor, closed his eyes, and slid down until he was an exhausted heap on the floor. He sat like that for a moment, allowing himself to recover from the overwhelming venture to the outside world. It was a pathetic sight, really - a lonely old man sitting on the floor of his crummy little apartment, struggling to fight off a meltdown because he’s afraid of his own shadow. A harsh, dry laugh bubbled up from his chest when he thought about how stupid the scene would look to an outsider. So, he placed his palms flat on the floor on either side of his thighs and pushed himself up, forcing himself to his feet. He wobbled a little, but soon regained his balance.

The apartment was small and eerily empty, every surface and piece of furniture had been meticulously cleaned to the point where the home hardly looked like anyone even lived there. He didn’t have many possessions, mainly because he shoved everything that reminded him of Erwin into a storage unit before he moved. The living room, which was the first room one would see upon entering the apartment, had a simple gray rug atop dark, gray wooden flooring. There was a simple coffee table in the center of the room, and behind it sat a little navy blue couch with gray pillows resting against both armrests. A TV sat mounted on the wall, however Levi rarely used it — he couldn't ever focus on shows or movies, so he spent most of his time seated in front of his computer instead. 

He strode across the living room and to his bedroom, finally allowing his messenger bag to fall from his shoulder and into his desk chair. His bedroom was a bleak sight. A gray rug, identical to the one in the living room, was drawn across the expanse of the floor. There was a twin bed against the furthest wall, directly in the center. He had two pillows and one blanket, which he'd bought as a set. Less to clean, as he did the laundry almost every other day. His desk was nestled on the wall beside the door.

There were two bathrooms in the apartment, one of which was private and only accessible through the master bedroom. Levi shed his coat and hung it off the back of his desk chair and moved to the bathroom, desperate to scrub himself from head to toe. His clothes all but removed themselves from his small frame by the time he reached his destination, falling to the icy tiles at his feet. He pushed the plain, white curtains aside and reached into the shower to turned the nozzle, allowing the water time to heat up before stepping inside. It always took too long for the hot water to kick in, so he turned to the sink and gripped the counter, taking a moment to peer at his reflection in the mirror. 

Levi wasn't conventionally attractive. He was short, shorter than most women even, and scarily pale. His paleness was only made more apparent by a head of jet-black hair, which he wore in an undercut. Dark, too, were the bags under his deep set eyes. He hardly ever slept. The only evidence that Levi was in fact alive and not a reanimated corpse were his soft, rosy pink nipples, the same color as his lips. At one point they'd been pierced, though he didn't remember when he took the jewelry out. Probably some time after Erwin died.

Fog engulfed the mirror and Levi couldn't see his reflection any longer, signing to him that the shower was finally ready. He pulled himself from the sink and stepped into the shower, relief hitting him the instant he found himself under the scorching hot water. It felt sterile, as if the water was burning away all of the filth and bacteria from his body. Levi stood there for a moment, unmoving. The water pressure seemed to drown out his thoughts and all he had to do was feel — just _exist._ Deep red spread across his skin like a blanket. It burned and he was grateful for it.

He allowed his mind to wander, thinking back on all the showers he and Erwin had shared. Erwin preferred cold showers, so much so that they would leave Levi shivering and scowling up at his husband unpleasantly. This always earned a hearty laugh from the taller man, who would then adjust the temperature to accommodate the other. Other times, Erwin would hiss under the heat that Levi insisted on, and Levi was much less kind.

 _"Can't handle a little bit of heat, old man?" Levi raised an eyebrow and bit at his bottom lip, peering innocently up at his husband. Erwin, feeling much less playful, wrapped an arm around his lovers waist and spun so their positions were reversed. The blonde grinned —oh how Levi fucking_ **_loved_ ** _that goofy grin of his— and reached behind him, turning the nozzle to cool down the water just a smidgen._

Levi felt himself smile as he thought about how most of their showers ended with his back pressed against ice cold tiles, held up by his lower thighs with his husband sheathed deep inside him. Other times he'd be bent over with his hands on the wall, and Erwin would mercilessly plough into him from behind like nothing else mattered, water plummeting over their bodies and making everything oh so very _wet_.

Wandering hands slithered down his body, eyes squeezed shut as he reminisced. Fingers toyed with his nipples, pinching and prodding at them almost painfully. He imagined his hands belonged to Erwin, who had always been so rough yet tender when touching him, always knowing exactly what to do to make the younger man unravel. His hands slid lower, following the coarse trail of hairs beneath his belly button, searching for their prize. Levi bit his lip as he gripped his cock, which was already hard and throbbing and _begging_ for gratification. He stroked himself slowly at first, reveling in the feeling of pleasure that had become far too rare in the passing years. 

Soon, however, his strokes became uneven and somewhat desperate. He braced himself against the wall, pressing his forehead against the dripping tiles as his legs started to shake. Soft, almost inaudible grunts and whimpers escaped through gritted teeth as he bucked into his hand, wanting — _needing_ — more. Levi pressed himself further into the wall, freeing his arm and instead supporting himself with his chest. Two fingers found themselves sliding between parted lips, and his tongue reached out to meet them, coating them in warm, slick saliva. He sucked and licked at them for a moment, the desperation of his other hand only increasing as he grew closer and closer to his embarrassingly fast climax. 

He spread his legs slightly, careful not to slip as he reached around his body, searching for his neglected hole. It'd been a long time since his last wank, let alone the last time he'd even attempted to fuck himself with toys _or_ fingers. Levi pressed the pad of his middle finger against his awaiting entrance, slowly breaching the tight wall of muscle. There wasn't as much resistance as he'd been expecting, which was a pleasant surprise. He pushed the digit in as far as it could manage in the awkward position he'd assumed, and began to thrust it in and out, allowing himself time to adjust and get used to the once familiar sensation. His index finger soon joined the other and he _groaned_.

"Fucking Hell." Levi cursed, his face squished against the wall as he scissored himself open with one hand and stroked his weeping member with the other. His legs subconsciously spread themselves a little wider and his fingers dove even deeper and— _christ_.

His eyes crossed and his back arched, saliva dribbling down his chin as he caressed his sweet spot clumsily. The angle was atrocious and he couldn't get the desired friction, but he was too touch starved and needy to care. Hot water plummeted down on him and everything felt so fucking _overwhelming_. He didn't know which sensation to chase. Levi worked his fingers so they were rubbing up against the little bundle of nerves, and his lower belly started to swim. His balls felt tight and heavy and he knew he wouldn't last much longer, stealing only a few more strokes before his entire body jolted forward, releasing all over the shower wall. 

Levi didn't move for what felt like an eternity, his heavy breathing dying out while the water grew cold. His throat felt tight and his eyes started to burn, his heart sinking. The reality of what he'd done was finally sinking in, and he felt dirty _._ And _alone_. His legs suddenly felt weak and as if they couldn't support the weight of his body any longer, and he quickly crumbled to the bottom of the shower floor in a heap of trembling limbs. 

His meltdowns often mirrored an avalanche, the metaphorical image displayed vividly in his mind; violent cracks booming as the surface crumbles, the snow tearing away from the mountain face. Rumbling lowly, it begins to stutter and hiccup, sliding down, down, down. The rumbles are pained and untamed, as if Mother Earth herself is begging to be purged. Trees and rocks and animals are torn up from their resting place, the mass of snow destroying everything in its path as it escalates. It's path is clear, destined to follow gravity straight down to meet the river. This, to Levi, is how nature cleanses itself and becomes restored. Much like the avalanche, Levi also shatters and breaks in the panic. It's a sickness riddled in rot and bacteria, pouring out in waves until it finally meets its final destination. 

Levi wasn't sure how much time had passed before he was finally able to collect himself and recover. He was totally numb by the time he mustered up the energy to turn off the water and step out of the shower. He grabbed his towel and dried off, this time refusing to steal a glance of himself in the mirror. A part of him felt that his reflection would mock him, almost as if his subconscious was trying to tell him how much of a pathetic mess he was. 

He picked his clothes up from the floor and tossed them into the hamper, followed by the now damp towel. He made his way to the bedroom before rummaging through the closet to find a fresh pair of pajamas, soon settling on a plain white tee and some gray sweatpants. The clothes looked much too big for him — he'd lost a substantial amount of weight since he first purchased them after all. 

Once comfortably in his nightwear, Levi moved across the room and sat down at his desk to finish out his final task for the day. He booted up the computer, which always took way too long to start up, but he was too drained to get annoyed by the minor inconvenience. The screen came to life and Levi entered his password, waited another moment, and opened the browser to search for the website he was looking for. He was a slow typer, a result of growing up with a poor education, but he managed just fine despite the minor shortcoming. Craigslist finally loaded up and he proceeded to construct his inquiry:

**HELP WANTED**

_Searching for a live-in housekeeper. Willing to pay minimum wage and provide room and board. You may contact me using the email address provided below._


	2. Resisting Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Eren Jaeger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the first, but there's definitely much more going on. Please enjoy. ♡

_"You drink a little too much and try a little too hard. And you go home to a cold bed and think, that was fine. And your life is a long line of fine."_

― Gillian Flynn

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Eren was hunched over the bathroom sink, steadying himself against the counter. The mirror was filthy, smudged beyond recognition with greasy fingerprints and whatever other bodily fluids might have ricocheted against the glassy surface. Piss, blood, shit — maybe even semen. That wouldn't be surprising, as there were dozens of used condoms scattered about the restroom, hiding in various places like wet, sticky, deflated birthday balloons. Eren didn't care enough to contemplate. He leaned forward and began to wipe away at the mirror with his sleeve, not minding if it got ruined, really. It was only a shirt.

Green eyes looked back at him, peering through the ever thinning layer of grime. He took in his reflection. Squinted. Leaned closer. His head was spinning and he couldn't decide if the mirror was responsible for the hazy, blurred image or if the less than adequate eyesight was a result of yet another day spent binge drinking. It didn't matter. He opened his mouth and tugged at his lower lip with his fingers, paying no mind to the dirt caught beneath his fingernails. 

"Gotcha, lil fucker." There it was, staring back at him menacingly — a sore, red and agitated beneath a forming layer of rotting cells and yellowing bacteria. It was thankfully just a canker sore, but _fuck_ was it relentless. It was practically a permanent fixture at this point, having plagued him for at least a month. Girls wanted nothing to do with him with his festering little friend sitting happily upon his lip, but he'd live. He only went to parties for the free booze, and an easy lay was always a plus, but never expected.

A few shots were all it took to numb out the pain, sedating him just enough to forget about the sore. He never liked beer, always going for hard liquor when given an option — tonight he'd consumed nearly half a dozen whiskey highballs. Overkill? Maybe, but they were cheaper than dirt and easier to stomach than the dollar store vodka shots he'd downed earlier in the morning. Mixing alcohol was a recipe for disaster, but sobriety was worse. 

It was all disgusting — grotesque, even. Much like the restroom he'd holed himself up in, Eren was a little worse for wear. Ruined ceramic tiles and a variety of broken fixtures, barely holding it together. Cracked porcelain beyond repair. There was a bar of Irish Spring soap on the counter, coated in countless layers of thick, off-white scum. It was partially melted into the sink, held in place by the grip of lurking mold. 

He turned the faucet on, cupping his hands beneath the flowing water before leaning to splash it in his face. It was cold enough to tether him in reality, giving him the strength to gobble up his troubles so they could rot away in the pit of his gut, only to be seen again when he inevitably puked them out.

The music suddenly reappeared, rattling Eren out of his trance — he could see the mirror quivering under the heavy rhythmic vibrations, and vaguely wondered how much longer the glassy panel could last without shattering to bits. Eren knew he would have to return to the room crammed full of dancing bodies awaiting him outside the bathroom door sooner or later, otherwise his friends would worry. He didn't want that. Their concern only further confirmed his suspicion that his only role in their lives was that of a burden, dragging them down with him as he spiraled out of control. Dwelling on the self destructive thoughts wouldn't do him any good, so he huffed out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and pushed himself up from the counter top.

He took a few wide steps towards the door, vibrant crimson light peeking through the cracks, flowing towards him like a steady stream of blood. The floor was sticky against the bottoms of his shoes, an invisible coat of glue creating an element of resistance with each step — or maybe it was all in his head, drunkenness tricking him into believing that the force of gravity was steadily growing and weighing him down. A part of him hoped that the sticky floor would turn to quicksand and swallow him whole. 

Eren forced the door open, forgetting his own strength for a moment. It slammed against the opposite side of the wall with a loud **_CRASH_ **. But no one reacted. They were all amongst a sea of sweating bodies, gyrating and dancing together as their thoughts were drowned out by deafening song. His thoughts from before were pulverized alongside the deep thrumming of the bass, brain cells disintegrating and turning to dust almost instantly. 

It soon dawned on him that he was completely and utterly alone despite being in a building packed full of people. A dark, heavy cloud shadowed Eren and followed him everywhere he went, hovering over his shoulder and whispering poisonous sentiments into his ear. It was almost seductive, beckoning him in so it could shred him to bits from the inside out. 

He zoned out and muted the scene before him, half lidded eyes wandering over blurred silhouettes and fuzzy illusions of friendly strangers grinding against each other and exchanging saliva. Hands traveled down to grope and prod and pull and Eren felt his own fingers tingle and sweat with the sweet anticipation of desperately needed intimacy — release. He loved and often craved the feeling of losing control over his own body and letting his desires take him wherever they wanted. There were no fears or guilts or internal dilemmas, and all he had to do was buckle in for the ride and completely surrender. It was _addicting_ and he fully intended on chasing the sensation of action without consequence at every chance he got.

"C'mon, we're leaving." Mikasa's words shattered the illusion and he was quickly pulled back to reality. She was completely sober, as she'd insisted upon being the designated driver despite Eren's persistent argument that they could _just call an Uber_ if she wanted to let loose a little bit. Of course she refused. Stubborn fucker. 

Armin was practically limp, supported only by Mikasa's arm wrapped firmly around his narrow waist. He was obviously trashed and Eren couldn't help but to smirk a bit at the revelation — their friend had always been a lightweight, and it wasn't necessarily unusual for him to black out entirely whenever they attended parties. Blonde hair was plastered to his damp face, sticky strands seemingly cradling him in a gross, wet, smelly halo. The smaller man grinned and swayed his hand through the hair lazily, almost smacking himself in the head. 

"I said 'm fine, don' lemme ruin the fun 'gain." Armin slurred, ending his statement with an abrupt hiccup. He was struggling to keep his eyes focused on either of his friends, glossy lids heavy and falling shut for longer than expected with each blink. Mikasa rolled her eyes and cursed under her breath, words lost in the void of music and hellish laughter surrounding them.

"Christ, _fine._ Let's head out. Club blows anyway." Eren buried his disappointment at the early departure, knowing that Armin wouldn't last much longer if they kept up at their current pace. He’d have preferred to stay a little longer — maybe chat up a few girls, do a couple of lines, even. He was certain that Ymir was lurking around somewhere with her ever expanding arsenal of low-grade gear and other such paraphernalia, but he wouldn't get to find out as it seemed. He closed the gap between himself and his friends, slinging Armin's free arm across his shoulder and assisting Mikasa in the task of guiding the drunken rag doll to the exit. They pushed through endless walls of hot, intoxicated, unaware bodies until they finally managed to reach the propped open doors leading them outside.

The crisp nighttime air hit him like a kick to the gut and he felt his muscles clench and tighten involuntarily. Armin made a grunt of discomfort and proceeded to hurl, spewing multicolored vomit at their feet and onto the sidewalk. He whined and placed his weight further onto Eren, hardly able to stand on his feet anymore. Mikasa's nose crinkled and she allowed herself an exasperated sigh. 

"Change of plans," she mumbled, leading their mess of a friend towards the crosswalk. "He's not getting anywhere near my car until he's sobered up a bit."

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

They found themselves seated at a grungy little booth in a seedy diner down the street from the club. Armin leaned against the window, forehead pressed against the cold glass while Mikasa scolded him for not drinking enough water. His eyes were glazed over and he clearly wasn't processing her vigilance. Eren glanced over the laminated menu and ran his fingers along the cracked edges, peeling at it slightly with the pad of his thumb. The light above their booth flickered.

A large woman with frizzy black hair approached their table, a dull pencil tucked haphazardly behind her ear. She looked faintly annoyed at the very existence of the trio, but Eren couldn't blame her. Nobody likes a group of trashed, dirty twenty-somethings camping in their establishments. Not good for business. Plus, she probably assumed that they wouldn't tip, which wasn't far off. They didn't have much money to begin with, and they looked the part. She cleared her throat and pulled the pencil from behind her ear, leaning her weight onto one hip and refusing to make eye contact with any of them. 

"What'll it be?" She practically snarled. Eren noted that she smelled strongly of cigarettes and cheap floral perfume. Mikasa was the first to order, accounting for both herself and Armin, who was currently dozing off. 

"Whatever coffee you've got — black. No cream or sugar, thanks." The waitress grunted in affirmation before jotting down the request on her notepad. Mikasa took another look at the menu before adding, "could you also throw in an order of blueberry pancakes?"

Eren assumed the pancakes were for Armin. Mikasa wasn't the biggest fan of sweet things, or breakfast food for that matter. He doubted the blonde would be able to finish the food on his own, as he’d always been small and seemed to have the appetite of a squirrel. This was something Eren teased him for often, much to Armin's dismay. He was startled from his thoughts when Mikasa landed a stern kick to his shin from under the table. All eyes were on him, and he realized it was his turn to order.

"Shit, sorry." He fumbled a bit with the menu, not finding any of the items to be even a little bit appetizing, but he had to eat at some point. The waitress tapped her pencil against her notepad impatiently as he tongued at the sore on his lip. 

"Uh, can I get a um, pitcher of beer, please?" It was only six bucks, and his buzz had long since died down. Mikasa shot him a disapproving glance, but he shrugged it off and asked for a large muffin as well just to appease her. The waitress grumbled something under her breath as the lead of her pencil snapped before walking away from their table, retreating into the kitchen to relay their orders. She hadn't asked for an ID, which was fine. Eren was 24, turning 25 in March. 

Mikasa sighed. 

"Eren," she began, trailing off as if she was picking her words carefully. She took in a sharp breath and closed her eyes, deciding against whatever she wanted to say. "Never mind."

There was a lot left unsaid between the two. Eren was a wreck, and he knew that. Everyone knew. He was a spiraling college drop-out with a rapidly worsening drinking problem and a bad temper. He couldn't hold down a job for more than a month and stable relationships were a thing of fiction in his world. He was about to get evicted from his apartment because he couldn't pay the bills and the neighbors were constantly filing noise complaints. He had a criminal record, no license, no hopes or dreams — his life was a fucking disaster and there was no way of salvaging it. For the time being he could find salvation at the bottom of a pitcher. Eren went blank as the large jug of piss colored liquid was slammed onto the table in front of him. 

Their food arrived. The tea and pancakes were cold and the muffin was stale. None of them complained. Armin picked at his pancakes and shoved it around the plate with his fork until Mikasa swatted his hand, silently reprimanding him for playing with his food. He huffed and shoved a fork full of the sad, battery breakfast onto his mouth. The trio ate in silence until their plates were empty and Eren polished off the last of the cheap beer from his glass.

Eren felt a bit woozy and as if the walls were spinning, much like the walls of the crappy, disorienting funhouse at the State Fair. He leaned back into the booth, cringing at the feeling of faux leather sticking to his sweaty skin, and closed his eyes. Copious amounts of liquid sloshed around in his belly as he adjusted himself and tried to get comfortable, and a familiar chill ran up his spine. The back of his tongue tingled and the sweet coating of sugar from the previously devoured muffin turned to bitter salt. The brunette stood up abruptly, silverware clamoring loudly as it fell to the floor at the sudden movement, and he bolted outside. The little bell above the door jingled annoyingly as he slammed it open.

He emptied his stomach into a metal bin, which was bolted to the sidewalk. The bin was green and the paint was chipping away, worn down from exposure to the elements and rowdy club-goers.

"You okay?" A familiar voice not belonging to Mikasa or Armin. Eren groaned and wiped his mouth on his already soiled sleeve. He contemplated throwing up on the unwelcome presence, but decided against it. The last thing he needed was Mikasa saving his ass from an unnecessary fight again. He chose to steady himself by placing a hand on the trash bin and gave an unpleasant half-smile. 

"Jean." The two knew each other from college — they played football together, but never got along. He was the last person on the face of the planet that Eren wanted to be seen by in that moment. He mentally prepared himself to get mocked by his former teammate and admitted rival. 

"Jaeger," Jean breathed out a chuckle and took a couple of steps forward, arms folded across his chest and the ghost of a smirk beginning to emerge beneath his blasé facade. "Didn't expect to run into you here. Thought you were still locked up, man." 

"One step closer and I'm gonna puke on you, so back off." Eren vaguely imagined spewing his stomachs contents across the taller mans face. _Eat shit_ , he'd snarl before returning to his friends inside the diner.

Jean uncrossed his arms and held them up defensively, the smirk on his face unwavering, "Hey, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Chill out."

 _Chill out_. Eren scoffed. His knuckles went white, one balled into a fist at his side and the other gripping at the bin like his life depended on it. He opened his mouth to spit back a series of vile insults, but was cut off by that obnoxious bell above the diner door as it swung open. 

Mikasa stood rigid in the doorway, Armin behind her. He was standing on his own, wobbling a bit and blinking furiously to keep himself from falling asleep then and there. The dark-haired woman surveyed the situation before landing a solid glare in Jeans direction. 

"Kirschtein." She hissed, the word oozing from between clenched teeth like venom. Without wasting any time, Mikasa stomped across the sidewalk and grabbed Eren by the arm, yanking him close to her body. Her grip was unforgiving and Eren would have flinched if he hadn't been so intoxicated. It would probably leave a bruise. Mikasa didn't take her eyes off of Jean. 

"Let's get out of here." Mikasa said without another thought. 

Armin rushed towards them, startled by the commotion and no longer battling to keep his eyes open. He was the type to avoid conflict at all costs, which was surprisingly more difficult than it sounded in theory. The trembling blonde followed clumsily as Mikasa dragged Eren in the direction of the car, tripping over his own feet multiple times in the process. Jean hollered something unintelligible after them, but the trio knew whatever he said was best left unheard. 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Eren dragged himself up the stairs to his apartment, hand gripping the rail as his body pushed all of its weight into the painted white brick walls. His limbs felt incredibly heavy, and he desperately wanted to crawl into bed and pass the fuck out. He reached the top of the stairs and fumbled around in his pockets for the key, finding it a few moments later hidden beneath a surplus of foil gum wrappers in his coat. The brunette scoffed and averted his gaze from the eviction notice plastered to the door before shoving the door open and stumbling inside. He slammed it behind himself and threw his coat to the floor. 

His apartment was pretty bleak. He had a worn secondhand couch in the main living room and a broken television directly adjacent, on the floor. There were no pictures on the walls or decorations — he couldn't afford anything like that. For a short while he'd owned a houseplant, but it died months ago and he had no intention of replacing it. 

There was a single bathroom with a toilet that hardly flushed and a shower nearly half the size of an airplane lavatory. No hot water. The lights above the sink were burnt out, though he didn't care enough to change them. The kitchen was even less impressive, but Eren only ever used the microwave to prepare meals, so it wasn't much of a issue. 

Finally, there was the bedroom. It was cramped to say the least, with a twin sized mattress shoved in the corner without a frame. Eren's clothes were thrown about the room haphazardly — he didn't own a hamper, or a dresser. It smelled musty and the air was heavy with a peculiar dampness and unidentifiable filth, but conditions were far better than they'd been in prison, so he wouldn't complain. 

Eren left a trail of clothes behind him, stripping as he made his way to the bedroom, stumbling about and struggling to stand upright. He was not only trashed, but _exhausted,_ and he needed rest desperately. For a moment he pondered if it would be beneficial to crouch over the toilet in the bathroom for a moment in case he had to get sick again, but he instead settled for grabbing the plastic bin from the kitchen and bringing it to the bedroom with him. The bin hit the floor with a **_THUD_ **and Eren took that as his cue to collapse face first onto the mattress. He let out a shaky breath and let his eyes fall shut. 

_Buzz. . ._

_Buzz. . ._

_Buzz. . ._

Eren cursed loudly and rolled over onto his side, trying to locate his phone so he could put it on _Do Not Disturb_. He found it in the pocket of his jeans, which were luckily crumpled up in a nearby pile of dirty laundry. He squinted at the screen and saw three text messages from Mikasa. 

MIKASA🧣

_did u get into the apartment ok?? drink water pls. [11:36]_

_i worry about u eren. . . [11:37]_

_saw this ad on craigslist earlier. thought u would b interested. [11:37]_

MIKASA🧣 sent an attachment. 

Eren opened the attachment and waited for it to load, though he had to stop himself from dozing off while doing so. His internet connection was garbage. The screen lit up and he allowed his eyes a moment to adjust before reading the bold black text:

**HELP WANTED**

_Searching for a live-in housekeeper. Willing to pay minimum wage and provide room and board. You may contact me using the email address provided below._

He sighed and decided it was worth a shot, too drunk and tired to make up an excuse not to send a response. Words didn't come easily, and he found himself instantly regretting the decision to press send. 

**To: LSmith1225@email.com**

**Subject: Housekeeping Position**

_Hello,_

_I'm not sure if the housekeeping position is still available, but I've attached my resume anyway._

_Thanks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was alright — I actually really enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> I really wanted to show the contrast between Levi's more sterile, frigid lifestyle and Eren's chaotic, unsanitary downhill spiral, and I hope that came across clearly. ♡


	3. Feel the Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren and Levi schedule an interview.

" _It's terrifying to find out that life goes on without you."_

_—_ Courtney Love 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

It was an itch that woke Levi at about 5:45 in the morning — he'd been having a bizarre sex dream that he couldn't quite remember, but his morning wood was a cruel reminder of his sinful subconscious. He licked his lips and noted that they were still chapped and his tongue and throat were dry, tasting faintly of metal and salt. Hours of undisturbed festering bacteria overwhelmed the taste and Levi had to fight the urge to gag at the familiar sensation. Plaque was more than happy to grow and make itself comfortable between his teeth, hiding in the various nooks and crannies of his mouth. It made him feel nauseous. More annoying however was the persistent _itching_ in his nostrils and the desperate need to blow his nose.

Sleep had long since turned to stone in the corners of his eyes, lids sticking together beneath a thin layer of crusted discharge. His eyes were swollen from his fit the night before and the raw flesh burned when he moved his hands to rub at them. Fuck, his head was pounding and he knew immediately that he was dehydrated. Tired hands found their way up to the top of his scalp and spidery fingers tangled themselves in his hair. He tugged at the tangled locks and let out a distressed groan, though it might have passed more for a childish whimper to an outsider. 

Soon his lungs began to contract and empty themselves in a series of wet, strangled coughs. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and rushed to the restroom, ripping his eyes open in a way that surely tore out lashes from the roots. Levi proceeded to hack up his lungs into the sink. A glob of nearly transparent phlegm slid down the drain and the man cursed softly to himself. Clearly he'd caught a bug of some sort on the bus the day before. He shivered. Turned the faucet on. Splashed water onto his face. 

Somehow reality felt less tangible than dreams. Waking up felt like falling asleep most of the time, and he felt disconnected from himself more and more with each day. The persistent itch in his nose tethered him in the present and he was both thankful and annoyed by this fact. He fumbled around for a new box of tissues hidden in the cabinet beneath the sink. Grabbed two. Blew his nose. He grimaced at the sight of bright yellow goo on the previously pristine sheet. Sinus infection, probably. He got those more frequently than he'd like to admit. 

He grabbed his toothbrush, dousing the soft bristles in a liberal dime of paste with a _SQUELCH_. He brushed his teeth more vigorously than usual, scrubbing at them as if he were hoping to scrape away his sins with a little bit of elbow grease. His tongue was the main event and Levi was desperate to cleanse the muscular organ until every inch of it was totally clean. Pushing down, Levi ran the brush along the pink appendage, practically shoving it down his throat. The movement was rhythmic, slamming back and forth, stretching and straining and destroying the resistance of his esophagus with rigor. 

With a throbbing jaw, Levi removed the brush from his mouth and rinsed it thoroughly. Cupped his hands under the faucet and took the water into his mouth, cringing at the feeling of his bleeding gums and tongue pulsating beneath the shocking cold. He spit, watching as a thick stream of bloody saliva slid against porcelain and slithered down the drain. He cupped his hands under the flowing stream of water again and repeated the process twice over. Levi imagined that if he swallowed the water it would turn to acid and eat its way through his throat like a swarm of parasites. It would bubble and expand throughout his body, squeezing tight at pulping tissue and decaying bones until it finally tore through bubblegum lungs — grasping at his heart, constricting and squeezing until it ruptured like a piece of rotting fruit.

He once saw himself as a consolidated consciousness residing in the shell of a man that could overcome anything — whether it be dark alleyways or at the hands of death itself, he never feared the future. For a long time he'd considered himself to be a purposeless entity floating through life without any hopes or ambitions, damned to die unnoticed and without leaving any lasting impact on the world around him. His dreams died alongside his mother as a child and his number one priority had become nothing more than a constant fight for survival and whatever stability he could obtain, no matter what lengths he had to go to in order to achieve it.

That was until he met Erwin, at least. Erwin was his savior — a wingless angel sent from the heavens to teach Levi that he was worthy of a life beyond fruitless sacrifice. He gave him stability and so, so much more than he could have ever imagined. He'd given him a home, hopes for the future, dreams, and means to achieve whatever he desired. Levi was free to expand beyond the boundaries of financial burdens or the fear of failure, and for once he was able to not only survive, but thrive. He'd received an education, finally earning his GED at 26, traveled the world alongside his husband throughout the length of their marriage, gotten his teeth fixed, and discovered his passion for the culinary arts. He'd been in culinary school for only a semester before Erwin’s passing, after which he immediately dropped out. 

_Gold digger. Sugar baby. Gigolo._ **_Whore_ ** _._

He'd been called all of those things following the death of his husband. Erwin's family never approved of their relationship — their fifteen year age-gap wasn't easy for many of them to stomach, and the nature of their marriage was frequently called into question. The gap was the primary culprit for their suspicions that Levi was only in it for the money, but the true nail in the coffin of their disapproval was the line of work that he'd been in and exactly _how_ they'd met in the first place. He wasn't a criminal or anything, of course, but his career choice at the time had been less than palatable to most. Half of them hadn't even shown up to the wedding, and they threw a fit upon hearing that he’d be speaking at the funeral. 

Levi went off the deep end, to put it lightly. He'd been diagnosed with pathological grief upon his second admission to the state psychiatric hospital. They'd told him that pathological grief differed from the traditional response to loss in that it was classified as a mild form of traumatic stress injury. Those who are unable to productively work through and overcome grief over an extended period of time are often prime candidates for the diagnosis, and Levi fit the criteria perfectly. He'd been stuck in mourning for over 18 months with no signs of improvement, which was a red flag in and of itself. He was apathetic in every area of his life, monotoned, monosyllabic, if not entirely nonverbal. He never slept or ate, and his motivation was entirely nonexistent — his need for escapism outweighed the need for self-care or basic functionality. The dissociation was the worst. There were days, weeks, and entire months missing from his memory completely. His mind would leave his body and somebody else entirely would take control until his return, and that scared the shit out of him. 

After getting discharged, Levi entertained the idea of changing his name and running off — starting over, free of the shame he felt from being such a mess. He felt completely humiliated, knowing full well that Erwin’s family was aware of his time in the hospital. Their opinion of him couldn't get any worse, and he couldn't possibly feel more embarrassment for his existence. There was no way in Hell that he could ever show his face around them again, but he was bound to them both legally and financially until they reached an agreement regarding the Smith estate and Erwin’s fortune. He couldn't escape. He was stuck in the situation that continued to swallow him whole, leaving him unable to heal. The antidepressants he'd been prescribed only made matters worse. He was always tired, his appetite refused to improve, he'd developed erectile dysfunction, he couldn't sleep, couldn't take a shit, and he still just wanted his fucking husband back. He'd stopped taking them after a few months and refused to consistently take them ever since. 

_Shit_. He lost track of time again. 

Levi shook himself from his thoughts and proceeded to finish getting ready for the day, following his strict routine like it was a religion. He pissed in the toilet. Flushed once, twice, three times. Washed his hands. Washed them again. He undressed and tossed his pajamas into the hamper before hopping into the shower — he took showers twice daily, once in the morning and once in the evening. The water was always hot, turning lily-white skin rosy and red, burning away at the filth that built up invisible layers on his flesh. He'd have to take extra care to scrub down his body this morning, as he'd neglected his proper hygiene rituals the night before. That fact alone gave him the sensation of little bugs crawling all over him, and the need to sanitize himself became unbearable. 

Some days he felt like his body was held up by thin braces, straightened into position by restrictive metal spikes — he could feel them suspending him from above, embracing each limb like a vice, but he couldn't see who held them. He desperately wished that he could see whoever was in charge, and if the way they pulled at his strings was some sort of sick, sadistic joke. Maybe he was nothing more than a dog on a leash to an invisible higher power. He scrubbed away these thoughts with his loofah and a generous amount of soap until every inch his skin was rubbed completely raw. 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Levi fulfilled the remainder of his morning routine on muscle memory alone, aside from the newer addition of changing out Farlan and Isabel's dishes. He enjoyed having someone else to take care of besides himself, even if they were only birds — their persistent chirping and singing throughout the day was definitely something he could get used to. Something about watching them thrive under his care made his chest swell and a smile grace his lips. It felt healthy. Like subtle progress. 

It was nearing 9:15 by the time he was finally able to sit at his desk and sort through his emails, a cup of black tea resting beside his laptop. Again, the hunk of junk took ages to boot up, but there wasn't anywhere else he needed to be today. He watched the steam rise from the cup of tea and evaporate into the air. The sun was shining somewhat more than the day before, and a pleasant yellow glow engulfed his bedroom, dribbling in through the cracks in his curtains like spilling lemonade. It was warm. The birds were singing. His lips quirked into a relaxed smile and he drank in the morning for a quick moment. 

A blue screen transitioned to a picture of Levi and Erwin — they were at a beach in Mykonos, Erwin’s arm wrapped lazily around his husband's waist. They were both tanned and sporting atrocious swim trunks in obnoxious bright colors, and Levi looked vaguely annoyed from under heavily tinted sunglasses. Erwin was grinning from ear to ear, proudly displaying his partner, pride glistening in those beautiful baby blue eyes. It was a happy memory, which is exactly why Levi had chosen it to be his wallpaper. The decision has been Dr. Zoë’s idea.

He didn't linger long, soon moving to open up the internet browser without much thought. Hands moved to the keyboard, silently reminding himself to give the laptop a thorough cleaning as soon as he finished up, and opened up his email. The keys were weighted, and clicked loudly as his fingers danced across them. They were warm, familiar. Safe.

Three responses. 

It wasn’t an ideal selection, but Levi was desperate and he needed to hire someone within the next week. Going to the grocery store was totally out of the question. He’d have a panic attack, no doubt - there were _so many fucking people_ , squabbling about and it was unbelievably claustrophobic. People always touched him, and tried talking to him no matter how hard he tried to give off the impression that he wasn’t interested in stopping to chat. There was only one exit, and it always felt so far away, and the sensation of being trapped poisoned his veins and made it impossible to breathe. Everyone was too _close_ , and he could smell the germs on their breath and see the dirt under their nails each time they pushed past him to grab at something on the shelves. Not to mention that he had trouble reaching most things, and he couldn’t ever bring himself to ask for help. He’d sooner leave the grocery store empty handed than go out of his way to ask for assistance reaching something - he wasn't a child, he was _a grown ass man_ and he didn’t need help with such miniscule tasks. It was humiliating and it made him feel pathetic. Ashamed to be in his own skin. Small, like a bug ready to be squashed beneath the feet of something much larger and superior.

The first two emails had been sent almost immediately after posting the ad, and they contained nearly identical copy and paste style professional email formatting. They were both women, middle aged and without children. Previous experience in housekeeping and janitorial duties, and more than qualified. Nothing special until he reached the third email - appallingly unprofessional, with the saddest excuse for a resume Levi had ever seen. A felon, unable to hold down a job for more than a year as it seemed, with no experience in the field whatsoever. Well, besides the mentioned experience working in the kitchen at the state penitentiary. Levi was intrigued, never having received an application as interesting as this one. It was different. Unfamiliar. Exciting. 

He replied to the email without really thinking. Another impulsive action, like purchasing the birds. It was healthy to detract from his ritual. Progress. 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Eren woke up with what felt like Cthulhu rattling around inside his skull, turning his brains to mush. He was sure that if he shifted even slightly, his brains would slosh around and dribble out of his ears like goo. Cracking his eyes open was a huge mistake, light penetrating his dilated pupils like a cheap back alley lobotomy. There was dried slobber plastered across his cheek, gluing strands of hair to flesh. This was the _worst_ — drinking himself sick and drinking even more to make the sick go away. He had to do something about the pain, so a couple of shots before brushing his teeth seemed like the way to go. With a discontent moan, Eren slid off of his bed so he was sitting on the floor, legs apart and bent at the knees so he could rest his forearms on the caps. The skin of his feet was slightly damp with sweat and sticky against the hard flooring. There was a beat up plastic bottle of Fireball next to his bed that he'd purchased from the nearby gas station earlier in the week. It was disgusting, but dirt cheap and the perfect remedy for a world class hangover. 

_Jean Kirschtein_.

Eren's tongue glided over cracked lips and he swore that he could taste the name in his mouth, overpowering the filth from the night before. He hadn't thought of the man in a long time — not since he first went to prison, and the involuntary memories made his stomach twist itself into knots. Sardines swam up the back of his throat in a river of pungent stomach bile and the acrid taste did nothing but accompany a plethora of increasingly unpleasant thoughts. 

_"—and I'm telling you right now, there was no way in Hell that we weren't going to fuck in her daddy's car. It was big enough for the both of us, we were fuckin' shitfaced, her tits were lookin' perky, and that sorry sack of shit deserved to spend his paycheck getting crusty cumstains extracted from the back seat. Served the loser right, y'know? Classic justice. Anyway—" The man on stage had ashy brown hair and one of the longest faces Eren had ever seen. People throughout the lounge cackled and laughed along, clapping their hands and bearing wine-stained teeth. Scantily clad women were serving drinks and sitting in the laps of large, round men and they would occasionally lead high tippers to the back. Eren had been smoking a joint, silently observing from his seat beside Mikasa at the bar. Private clubs weren't his thing, but she'd insisted on it. He wasn't entirely sure why._

_"Christ, 'kasa. This dude is a lunatic — fucking around in some assholes car just to get back at him for protecting his daughter. Arrogant, self absorbed, horse-faced jerk."_

_Eren was unsurprisingly drunk. And a little blasted, but that was besides the point. Mikasa sighed, and her eyes said something along the lines of, "be nice, we're all friends here."_

" _What's this guys deal, anyway?" Eren slurred, reaching to snatch up his nearly forgotten beverage that had been temporarily abandoned on the counter. Mikasa rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning upward into a soft, teasing smile._

_"That's Kirschtein — Jean Kirschtein. He sits behind me in Economics. . . He's the one I told you about. We've been dating for three weeks, and. . . Eren, I really like him."_

He grabbed the bottle by the neck and unscrewed the top, pressing it to his lips and flushing down the remains of the previous night in a heavy handed swig. He cringed. Felt disgusted with himself. Repeated the process. The pounding sensation in his head diminished to a dull tickle - an itch, even. And _fuck_ did he have to take a piss. His bladder was beyond max capacity and threatening to burst. He would _not_ have another accident. They happened more frequently than he’d like to admit, and cleaning piss soaked clothing and bedding wasn’t exactly something that he’d like to make a habit of. Incontinence would remain as his dirty little secret, locked away and taken to the grave. Humiliating. 

Scrambling to his feet was easier said than done, and he wobbled once he’d managed to push himself up from the floor. Heavy footed, he trampled through the apartment to the bathroom, nearly tripping over piles of clothes and bumping into the doorway with his hip. That collision would probably leave a nasty bruise. He toppled into the bathroom, shoved the waistband of his boxers down, and freed his cock from its cotton jail cell, not minding to close the door before releasing himself into the toilet. His legs trembled. It’d been a close call, luckily avoiding disaster. The flow stopped and he shook himself dry. Tucked himself back in his underwear. Took a mental note that he was definitely dehydrated. Flushed. Wiped his hands on his thighs and began to retreat back to the bedroom to mindlessly scroll through his phone for a couple of hours. Message some friends to see if they’d let him kick it on their couch for a while after the eviction, maybe. Tedium. 

He stopped in front of the mirror above the sink, the dim light casting a hard shadow over him and making him look eerily similar to a walking corpse. The brunette didn't linger long. His own reflection held more judgment than an entire courtroom and he wasn't much of a masochist, so he sulked back to his cave without wasting another moment.

He belly-flopped onto the bed and hid his face in the pillows for a while, drowning out the sensory overload of the world around him. It was too fucking sunny, and the city was hustling and bustling outside, paying him no mind. He didn’t exist. Less than a stain on the wall. Insignificant and purposeless. A worthless lowlife and a master in the art of being a fuck-up. 

Eren blindly searched for his phone, face remaining hidden in the pillows until his hand found its target. He peeled his face away from the soft fabric and cracked an eye open, allowing himself time to adjust to the blue light radiating from the device. His thumb slid across the screen, opening up his social media and scrolling aimlessly through a sea of status updates and photographs. A few images made him chuckle, he left a couple of comments, and then he closed out the app to switch over to a different one. This process went on for about an hour before he finally decided to check his email. 

He didn’t ever receive much mail. There was a lot of spam, occasional check-ins from his former probation officer, and social media notifications. Nothing of substance, except for a single outlier. 

A response.

. . . To his drunken job application from the night before. He flushed as he recounted the sloppily written inquiry. He hadn’t expected to get a response, and he felt a pit form in his gut. _Christ_ , how could anyone take an applicant like him even a tiny bit seriously? He cringed to himself and opened the message, holding his breath and mentally preparing himself to get told off and brutally rejected. Mikasa would be so fucking disappointed. 

He tongued at the sore on his lip.

RE: Housekeeping Position

From: **LSmith1225@email.com**

_Hello, Mr. Jaeger._

_I’m interested in meeting for an interview. Please respond if you’re available at 3:30PM today to meet at the coffee shop on 18th St. The position is time sensitive, so an answer is needed as soon as possible._

_By the way, you suck at writing emails._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that they haven't met yet — I've already written their first encounter, but it made this chapter unbearably long so I decided that it'll just be an entire chapter itself. Enjoy. ♡


End file.
